


Not That Kind of Conversation

by tainry



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tainry/pseuds/tainry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tracks calls Raoul in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not That Kind of Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the G1 s2 episode "Microbots". 
> 
> "For the June “Love me like there’s no tomorrow” challenge." my notes say, but I don't remember for which community. Probably flesh_and_steel? IDK...

“Mmrgh. Hello?” Who would call at this hour of the morning? Surely not any friend of his. Good thing he had his own line, and the ringer was set to low. Mom had to work the early shift tomorrow and she’d be pissed if he woke her up. 

“Raoul?”

The line had that peculiar clarity Raoul associated with a certain kind of call, transcontinental and otherwise. He sat bolt upright. “Tracks! What is it? You okay, man?”

“I’m fine.” 

Silence. Raoul imagined he could hear circuits ticking out their ones and zeroes. “Tracks?”

“I wanted to check in on you. Make sure you were well. I haven’t been out your way in a while.”

“At 2 am??” Raoul squawked. That meant it was 11 pm where Tracks was, but the robots totally knew about planetary time zones. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Something about Tracks’ voice wasn’t right. “What’s really going on?”

Tracks was good at emulating various kinds of sighs, mostly of the exasperated or impatient sort. This one, though, sounded worried, resigned. Maybe a little scared, or maybe Raoul was reading into it, given the unexpectedness of the call and lack of sleep. 

“Megatron has the Heart of Cybertron,” Tracks said.

“The what of what?”

Another, more typical Tracks sigh. “Megatron has gained an object of great power.”

“Okay. That is Bad. I follow so far. And?”

“He is on his way here to attack us directly. I…I wanted to—”

Raoul tossed the covers aside, grabbed the phone and jumped to his feet, stalking around his room in his boxers with the receiver pressed hard to his ear. “No. No way. We are not having that kind of conversation, Tracks. You hear me?” 

“All right, Raoul.”

Too easy. Raoul bit his lips, pacing faster, almost tripping on the phone cord. “You call me up at 2 in the morning just to say hello, huh? You’re lucky I don’t got school tomorrow.” Despite all Tracks’ urging, Raoul refused to go to a university. No one in his family ever got a degree and they did as well as anybody in their neighborhood. But he did agree to trade school, to get his certification in Auto Mechanics. He already had a part-time job with a friend of Sparkplug’s. 

“I know. I’m sorry to have awakened you.” 

Too quiet, too gentle. Raoul gesticulated with the hand holding the phone as though Tracks could see him. “Cut that out.” He sat back down on the bed. This wasn’t going to go well in a big, fat, hairy hurry. He scrubbed a hand through his hair as if that might jump-start his brain. “Hey, Tracks?”

“Yes?”

“So. You guys, you robots, you…do some kind of _Rock Down to Electric Avenue_ shimmy with each other, right?” 

Tracks laughed. “Yes. Something like that.” Raoul laid back, grinning. 

“Who’s the last one you did it with? I’m just curious, y’know?” He could almost hear Tracks considering, and nodding. Knowing Raoul wouldn’t let it go until he got some kind of answer.

“Mirage.”

Raoul’s grin got much bigger. “Uh huh. Formula one, pretty hot, man. I don’t know how he can drive around like that, though – no way is that street legal. Anyway, I’m not surprised.”

“You aren’t, hm?”

“Nope.”

“You should be. Mirage doesn’t often interface with anyone but Hound.”

If Tracks had hoped to shock him, he’d failed. Raoul stuck his tongue out. “Uh huh. So you took the inside curve with Hound’s boyfriend. Tell me about it. I mean, describe what you do. What you did with Mirage, I mean.”

“Really? How do you know you won’t find it boring? Just a couple of extension cords and a wall outlet?”

“Come on, Tracks. I want details.”

Tracks chuckled and Raoul felt the sound ripple over his skin. “A gentlebot doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“That lets you out, then. Come on, man. You called me, woke me up in the middle of the night. Stuff happens to guys in the middle of the night, y’know. Totally normal stuff, you got me?”

“I have you.” Definitely amused now.

“Besides, who’m I gonna tell? Poplock and Rocksteady already think I’m loco.”

“Indeed. Very well.”

“Go on. You ain’t shy.”

“I am merely deciding how best to describe this. I can’t simply data-transfer the experience to you, after all.” 

“Huh. I guess not.” That must be cool, Raoul thought, to be able to share video and audio and …touchio, or whatever you called it, between people instantly. The robots’ technology wasn’t just about flying Corvettes and ray guns, after all.

“We had just come in from patrol,” Tracks began at last. “It hadn’t rained for long enough for our roads around the base to become dusty. Mirage and I both prefer being clean—”

“There’s a shock.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“All right, all right. Don’t get your fenders in a knot.”

“Inside the base we have washing bays, which spray hot water or special solvents to clean ourselves most efficiently. Some of us like to experiment with your Earth car waxes and polishes, and Mirage had found a new silicone-based polish we wanted to try.”

“Lube.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

Tracks’ fans whirred for a moment before he continued. “It’s convenient to start in vehicle mode, so we took turns washing each other. Mirage did me first. The water was hot enough to steam up the insides of my windows, at low pressure so I could feel the dust sliding off my panels. Not like rain. Rain is so strange. Organic scents are often strong to us, so Mirage was careful about the soap. It’s hard to get anything unscented these days, but he found a good quality one with degreasers that weren’t too harsh and still provided an interesting amount of lather. He worked slowly and carefully, rubbing gently, then hard enough to rock me on my shocks. No seam or vent was left untouched. Then he turned the pressure up high, loud on metal, ringing on not-glass. A very thorough mech, Mirage. He got down low to blast my underside, playing the spray inside my wheel wells until I was standing high on my suspension.”

Imagining it all clearly, Raoul bent his knees with his feet flat on the bed, pretending his legs were wheel wells, running his free hand up and down, lingering on the backs of his knees when he discovered how nice it felt. 

“By this time we both knew we were not going to just dry off and head in for recharge. I transformed so he could wash my robot mode. Back to the gentle flow, and scrubbing, and for rinsing he held the nozzle with his fingertips so he could direct it just where he wanted it. He didn’t look up as he worked, but I could see a little smile flicker on his lip components now and then. It was all I could do to keep my arms out from my body and hold still. He has a talent for finding the most interesting little crevasses…but his hands are smaller than mine, and beautifully forged. 

“Dripping, steam swirling from me, I took the hose from him and he transformed, lithe and sleek, built for speed in ways even I am not. The curves and planes of his body are complex. I took my time, remembering to get the underside of his spoiler, to be careful around the edges of his cockpit, moving the scrub sponge in long figure-eights over his side panels. Every rim and spoke and strut, just as he’d done for me, spraying hard underneath to make him lift up. I wanted him so much, even before he transformed and brushed my face as he stood and spread his arms and legs, his optics bright, lips parted. My hand on the nozzle shook a little, but I let it play over and through and into him, filling up internal spaces that drained slowly so the water would run in streams down all the paths of his body. 

“Thought…you guys were waterproof,” Raoul said, licking his lips.

“We are,” Tracks said, a smile in his voice. “Mirage is built very light, there are hollows under his armor here and there, but the water never touched his circuitry. Your breathing has become more rapid, Raoul, are you all right?”

Raoul clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was a little late. “I’m fine. Just go on, will you?” 

“I see. Well. I admit I spent rather more time washing his back than strictly necessary, considering we were standing chest-to-chest. Our mouths hovered near each other but I didn’t kiss him yet, though both our fans were going, engines revving a little already. It was more fun to watch his face as he relaxed into what my hands were doing. Our chest plates bumped and the water dripping off us was hotter than that coming out of the hose.” 

Eyes closed, Raoul pressed his hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat. He’d showered before going to bed but there was still motor oil under his nails. Tracks’ voice was getting deeper, rumbling like his engine. That wonderful engine full of strange things that were parts of cars he’d never seen before. Raoul trailed his hand down his stomach, stopping above the waistband of his boxers. 

“Aah, Raoul, he’s so beautiful. I wanted to touch every part of him. His hands were on me, so fine, so sure, getting up under my shoulder armor and I shivered, fans laboring. It wouldn’t have taken much to overload me then, but he drew it out, plucking sensitive cables like harp strings. Tremors went up and down my arms, my neck, into my helm and jaw and I tipped my head back, mouth open yet unable to make a sound. He kissed my chin, grinning when I looked down at him, bemused, nuzzling my head back again so he could kiss my throat, and I wondered how much longer my knees would hold even if I locked them. My core was overheating, but we know how to shut the alarms off, ignore the readouts in the red – red like the Autobrand, like the metal of my face, like the lines on his body I drew my fingertips along, lines and curves and crosses, and the arched indentation on his chest like a stained glass window into his laser core. His whole frame trembled. He’s so light I felt coarse and clumsy beside him, but he didn’t seem to notice, climbing me, using his legs as he used his arms and hands to stroke me. He knows how to move so that our armor slides instead of clashes. Almost all the water had steamed off us.” 

Even the boxers felt too hot now and Raoul slipped them off. His sheets were older than he was and had been washed so many times they were softer than any fancy satin on his heated skin, soft as Tracks’ voice. 

“I could smell the clean scents of the wash bay, new oil and detergents and warm metal, and the subtle fragrance that is Mirage, his fuel maybe, and I know Hound can sense it far better than I can. Some rare mineral, maybe something Mirage is made of, exotic and compelling. I imagined Hound moving over his body, tracking down every molecule of that scent, Mirage shaking in his arms, but I don’t know what he does when he finds one, hidden in some secret place between components that you’d have to be so close to even know was there. And then I really had to kiss him. Our face plates are so vulnerable, so carefully wrought, marks of individuality as our bodies proclaim our function. He sent little pulses of energy through his invisibility net and it vibrated through me in a way I’d never felt before. My body didn’t know how to deal with the input at first, but we were so heated, our emotions so engaged…” 

“Raoul, I know it sounds like all this is only physical, but there are languages of touch that we use to express our admiration, to tell secrets to a beloved one, to accept the fears and flaws; and even without radios we hum our need, our anger and loneliness and not-so-hidden longings and thus connect even as our minds blaze with the ancient forge fires. A heat we bare to each other, and feel through our lips.”

“His hands found my wings and I moaned weakly, unable to hold back, at his mercy. We were on the floor but I don’t remember the transition – my gyros had other concerns. He’s stronger than he looks, he didn’t let me fall. Our colors were reflected on the metal of the floor, running with that element that suffuses this alien world and yet does us no harm. He kissed my antennae, his hands stroking my wings, down where they connect to my back, and he could reach because I was arched off the floor, and he didn’t stop, he didn’t stop, rubbing the main pin where the sensory wires run close to the surface. His cloak pulsed – if my optics had been on I would have seen him fade, translucent, light shining through him, bending around him, bending me. 

“He whispered my name. I wanted to take him flying, like his vehicle mode once did on Cybertron. Freedom of the spires and there were thin clouds there once, not like the magnificent clouds here. I whispered his name in Cybertronian, nuzzling the side of his helm, holding him as he shivered and hummed. I held on, didn’t want to lose him, wanted to lose myself in him. He was synching up the harmonics of our engines, of our bodies, of the quantum dance in our processors. Raoul, this is what we do. We spun down together, conjoined by intention and an ecstasy no less rapturous for being deliberate. I cried out, unaware until I heard the echoes from the walls, and he laughed softly, then sealed his mouth to mine, hanging on as the fire took us down, offline.

Blood pounded in his face and ears and other places, and Raoul shifted his hips slightly, changing the angle of attack. “Tracks.”

“Yes, Raoul.”

Oh man, Tracks was purring, voice going right through him. “I…I wish I was big enough or strong enough to survive your way… And I shouldn’t have said that ‘cause now there’ll be no living with you, but you’re good at this, man.” This was crazy. You definitely couldn’t say stuff like this except late at night, when your body was making you stupid. “Tracks…Tracks, keep talking. I’m…” No. He was absolutely not going to say _that_! 

But for a wonder Tracks obliged him without requiring an explanation, without teasing. “Mmm, Raoul, I want to touch you so gently as he touched me. I want to find a way to be near your fragile body, hold you within me until this sun dies.”

Raoul shuddered. “Tracks…Tracks, what are you doing to me, man?” Tracks was doing something with his voice, even through the phone. “I can feel you…” Raoul bit his lips for a moment, but he needed the air. 

“Your skin produces something like an oil, does it not?”

“Y-yeah. I think so.”

“So, if I touched you—” Raoul moaned and twisted on the sheets, as though giant metal fingers stroked him. “—my fingertips would slide over your skin…”

“Yeah.” I don’t want him to stop, Raoul thought. I don’t want this to be over. Not yet. 

“…And you aren’t so small that I couldn’t caress you with my mouth. Across you back, over your chest, down your legs. My hearing isn’t as keen as Red Alert’s, but I can hear your heartbeat in the way you’re breathing.” 

Keeping quiet was a matter of long practice; Raoul let his mouth fall open, losing the feel of words, lungs drawing air like a racehorse. 

Tracks’ voice fell to a low, urgent murmur. “Where do you want me to touch you?” 

Raoul curled suddenly on his side, a soft whimper escaping him – and he’d be embarrassed about that later, but he wasn’t thinking right then, only blind reflex keeping the phone pressed to his ear.

“Are you all right?” Tracks asked carefully, a little while later, when Raoul’s breathing had steadied and he could see again.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Raoul said, grinning. “You?”

“I’m better.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, and guess what. That wasn’t boring. Extension cords. Jeez!”

Tracks chuckled. “Good. I’m glad.” The line subsided to a warm, breathing silence for a while, both of them immersed in being alive and together despite several kinds of distance.

“Raoul.”

“Mmm?”

“Prime says Megatron will be here in ten minutes. I’ll have to go soon.”

Raoul pushed the hair out of his face. “You guys aren’t just sitting around waiting, are you?”

“Of course not. Wheeljack and Ratchet are building a force field and Perceptor has enacted a plan to get the Heart away from Megatron.”

“ _’Perceptor’_? With a geek name like that, he must be pretty smart.”

“Perceptor isn’t a…all right, he is a geek. Yes, he is, well, brilliant, truth be told.”

“So you got a force thing, you got your smartest guy’s plan and your boss, Optimus, he said go for it, right? Then what are you worried about? Jeez.”

“Sure,” Tracks conceded, in that _Your statement is true, as far as it goes – however, clearly you don’t entirely understand the situation_ way of his. Raoul wanted to kick his tires.

“You’re as bad as my grandmother.” Raoul realized too late that was not a connection he wanted to make, all things considered. “No. Wait. No, you are nothing like my grandmother. Nothing at ALL like my grandmother in any way whatsoever. You’re…you’re…”

Tracks laughed, long and low, and Raoul happily drowned himself in the sound.

“What am I, then, hmm?” The purr was back, whiskers and cream.

“Fishing for compliments,” Raoul said with a snort. “And I wish you were here now.”

“So do I.” 

Raoul felt a kind of warmth fill him, blooming out from his chest. “When that thing with Mega-dude is over.”

“I’ll come visit. As soon as I can.”

“We can take a nice long drive upstate.”

“As long a drive as you want, Raoul.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Raoul rolled over, smiling, and forgot to hang up the phone.


End file.
